


Your Work and Nothing More

by weirdlyintoclassiclit



Category: Vampire: The Masquerade – Bloodlines (Video Game)
Genre: Codependency, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Headaches & Migraines, M/M, Mostly Fluff, Original Character(s), POV Sebastian, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:08:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22046128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weirdlyintoclassiclit/pseuds/weirdlyintoclassiclit
Summary: "Ibrahim sighed, his thumbs digging into the strained muscle of Sebastian's back. 'One time is chance,' he said. 'Two times is luck. Three times is a pattern.'Sebastian pressed his fingers to his forehead and kept his elbow on the desk. 'Your point?''My point is this is the seventh time in a row you've gone and run yourself into the ground like this,' Ibrahim answered. He squeezed Sebastian's shoulders lightly, through the padding of his suit jacket. 'Put on some pyjamas and come to bed.' His voice turned ever-so-slightly amused. 'I'll give you a massage.'"it's tough for sebastian to take a break, but there's a certain fledgling that won't take no for an answer.you can read this as a reader insert, an insert with your own oc, or as it is with ibrahim!
Relationships: Sebastian LaCroix/Original Character(s), Sebastian LaCroix/Original Male Character(s), Sebastian LaCroix/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	Your Work and Nothing More

"Are you ever coming to bed?"

Sebastian shut his eyes a moment, rubbed at his temples. In his many years on Earth, he hadn't known that vampires could actually get headaches until he became Prince of L.A. Then the Sheriff had faced the need to become familiar with any and all cures existing, quickly. It was a gamble to see what worked and what didn't. Oftentimes he stayed in the dark of his office, shut off all the lights and drew the curtains and just closed his eyes when all else failed. Squinting at papers and illegible handwriting and drawing up draft after draft after draft... simply put, it was hell. But it was also power.

And so LaCroix bore with it, for power that brought suffering was better than suffering without any power at all. A few years crawling in the snow on his belly and firing when ordered was enough to teach him that. He was a quick learner (he believed); he used what he gleaned to claw his way to the top. Now he was here, in a room shaded black and gold and decorated with a richness that reminded him of back home so many centuries ago. And he was realising that in truth, he would very much like to come to bed.

"Just a little longer," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose and trying to disperse the ache there. "Then I will."

"That's what you said an hour ago," Ibrahim pointed out unhelpfully. He was dressed in pyjamas that LaCroix had never really seen the point of—when they slept it was not sleep, just the undead body's way to keep out of the sun for several hours. But Ibrahim had said he liked the ritual of showering and changing into sleeping clothes and crawling into bed, so LaCroix humoured him. Mostly because his sweatpants were always slung low on his hips, which gave the Prince plenty of creative ideas on what to do between them when they had the time.

It wasn't something he thought of often, though. Here and there, understand. Work... took precedence. Always.

"I need to finish writing this," he said. One of the other Princes had written him asking about the growing Sabbat problem, and while he preferred to email (more professional that way) he wouldn't pass up an opportunity to remember old days again, where seals and script were everything.

He felt Ibrahim's hands settle on his shoulders, saw his shadow spread over the page. "Sebastian." His voice was quiet but firm; LaCroix knew it well. It was his mother hen voice, one he'd been hearing more and more of lately. Ibrahim had begun to wheedle him to go to bed more often, had taken to dropping discreet hints about where LaCroix wcould get a meal (and keep it down), had scolded him when he noticed any signs of being tired or run-down. Not that he was tired, per se. Being Prince came with duties that couldn't be shied away from. He knew this exceptionally well.

"What?" he asked, realising he had let the silence linger in the air just a tad too long.

Ibrahim sighed, his thumbs digging into the strained muscle of Sebastian's back. "One time is chance," he said. "Two times is luck. Three times is a pattern."

Sebastian pressed his fingers to his forehead and kept his elbow on the desk. "Your point?"

"My point is this is the seventh time in a row you've gone and run yourself into the ground like this," Ibrahim answered. He squeezed Sebastian's shoulders lightly, through the padding of his suit jacket. "Put on some pyjamas and come to bed." His voice turned ever-so-slightly amused. "I'll give you a massage."

"Kindred have no need for such things." However much he liked the idea. His temples were beginning to really throb now, two great weights pushing his skull inwards.

Another sigh. "Sebastian, look at me." When LaCroix wheeled around in his chair he reached froward and brushed a strand of blond hair out of tired blue eyes. "You're dead on your feet."

"Ha," LaCroix said dryly, but it didn't spark any more laughter. That was fine. There was only so much one could do.

Ibrahim lowered himself to crouch before his prince, forcing their eyes to meet. "Sebastian," he said finally, "come to bed. You'll make yourself sick."

"My work—"

"—isn't as important as your health. You're tearing yourself apart here." Ibrahim knew, of course, that vampires could not get sick in the traditional sense, but he had no doubt that the deals and drafts would take a toll on LaCroix. "Is this what you want to be? Your work and nothing more?"

LaCroix's eyes shifted a moment. "Ibrahim—"

"Come to bed," Ibrahim interrupted, and kissed him with care he had not been given in a long, long time. "Come to bed and rest. It will be there tomorrow night." He rose and took Sebastian's hand, pulled him away from his work, and Sebastian went willingly. Well, mostly willingly.

"You frighten me sometimes," Ibrahim admitted when his arms were around Sebastian under the covers. Sebastian shifted, feeling the cool weight against his back soothe the ache between his temples.

"I don't mean to," Sebastian murmured back. Sometimes he did—a Prince had to terrify. It was in his nature. But now, vulnerable and tucked away in the shadow, he did not want fear making its home here.

Ibrahim was quiet, pressed a kiss to the back of Sebastian's neck, the ridge of bone there. "You know I love you, right?" It was a reassurance and a plea all in one. Did Sebastian know? The love was not doubted, only the awareness of it. As if a "no," however soft, was a knife in the back.

"Of course," Sebastian answered. It was all he needed to know.

"Then act like it." Another kiss. Normally Sebastian would bite back at being scolded like a child, but he already felt the sluggish threads of the Kindred's sleep looping around his body so they could pull him down. His brain was whirring to a mechanical stop.

"Have I?" he asked.

"Have you what?" Ibrahim asked. His tone reminded Sebastian of a tired old Father Time, tasked with turning the wheel and turning everyone against him. Old, grey, eternal. Stubborn. Caring, in the worst way.

"Have I become my work and nothing more?" Sebastian whispered it and pretended he'd spoken at full volume.

For a terrible moment there was only a looming black silence as Ibrahim's thumb brushed over LaCroix's hip, a sweep that mimed the tick-tick-tocking of a clock. For a moment LaCroix thought he would agree, and he almost wanted him to. To hear those words coming from the lips of the little Fledgling he'd saved. A chick cupped in cold palms just before being pushed out of the nest.

Sebastian waited.

"No," Ibrahim said finally. "No, _albi_. Now go to sleep."

Kindred did not dream, and yet LaCroix's did loops and swirls and arcs, and he could not seem to make them right again.

**Author's Note:**

> hey y'all! if you made it here, congrats and thanks for sticking with me this far. it's been a hot minute since i uploaded, but i do have a lot written for these two, so maybe stay tuned? also, the song used as inspiration for this one is his work and nothing more from the jekyll and hyde musical. check it out!!


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